


Happiness is Effortless

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Meddling Older Sisters, anti-dating apps, blind dates, just glanced over, very light allusions to previous canon sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:17:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6621226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek just wanted an excuse to run out on his date. A very public fight with the fiance he didn't know he had is not exactly what he was expecting, but he'll take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happiness is Effortless

**Author's Note:**

> Hey look, it's my very first Sterek fic!! And boy did I have fun with it! The idea came from this tumblr post here about an app to connect you to people who can break up your terrible date, and I thought how thoroughly INTO IT Stiles would get. He'd have a blast, and Derek would get caught up in it, and the whole thing is just so entertaining.
> 
> So anyway, this whole thing was written in one sitting and finished around 1:30am, so any mistakes are because of that and it's un-beta-ed-ness. Apologies for that, lol.

Derek barely glanced up from his phone as the waiter placed a bowl of rolls and sweet butter on the table with an unnecessary flourish. His thumb hovered over the _install_ button beneath the colorful icon, a stylized letter **_H_** in red and orange. It wasn’t the first time he had considered that particular app, but his siblings had a tendency to steal his phone and fuck around with it and he would get no end of shit from them if they ever found it there. Theoretically he could download it, use it, then delete the evidence afterward, but that seemed like a lot of effort and maybe he should just wait to see if this date would be any better than the last fourteen.

He dropped his phone face down on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose instead. A tinkling of ice told him that the waiter had returned with the glass of water he’d ordered but he didn’t bother to acknowledge him. The waiter let him be; this was far from the first time the man had borne witness to the scene before him. Derek was starting to think he should get frequent flier miles at this restaurant for all the terrible blind dates he had endured on the premises.

Laura had tried to convince him to branch out, try something new for one of these dates, but what was the point in ruining other perfectly good restaurants for him? Derek was firmly convinced it was better to contain the misery to one location, which he could then avoid as much as possible. Laura was of the opinion that he was sabotaging himself. But then Laura had a lot of opinions and insisted on sharing them as loudly as possible at every opportunity, even when those opinions were most definitely not welcome. Like on the matter of his love life.

Laura _insisted_ it could be better. She _insisted_ that Derek didn’t get out enough and needed a girlfriend—or boyfriend, she wasn’t picky—to make him socialize more. She _insisted_ that she knew just the person, and she _insisted_ that Derek give them a chance. Why did Derek go along with this at least twice a month? Because he was a pushover who hated the worried and pitying looks his big sister gave him when she thought he wasn’t as happy as he could be. Who was he to deny her the chance to _help_ like she so desperately wanted to?

The maître d’ came by to tell him his date had arrived and Derek finally looked up in time to see a pretty brunette in a pencil skirt come up behind him. Derek didn’t smile at her as she sat down; smiling always seemed to make them think he wanted to be there. He tried not to actively scowl at her though, at least not enough to scare her off immediately. She looked nice enough, better than some of the other prospects his sister had sent his way in the past. This one might even be a friend of Laura’s. She would be mightily offended if he didn’t at least give her a chance.

“Hi,” the woman said, pushing her bangs behind her ear and smiling wider. “I’m Jennifer.”

Derek did offer a polite smile in return this time. “I’m Derek.”

“Yes, Laura told me,” Jennifer said, nodding more quickly than she needed to. She shook out her napkin and smoothed in over her lap.

“What else did she tell you?”

The waiter passed them their menus and Jennifer thanked him warmly. “That you’re a grad student studying history, that you read in your spare time, and that you like long walks on the beach and piña coladas in the rain,” Jennifer said, the last bit with a wry tilt to her lips.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s quite how the song goes.”

Obviously put off that her joke had fallen flat, Jennifer bit her lip and busied herself with the menu. Her left thumb tapped incessantly against the edge of the laminated sheet. Derek briefly considered ripping it off of her hand, but he thought that might be a bit of an overreaction so he restrained himself. He should be giving her a chance, he knew that. Something about Jennifer had made Laura think that he would like her, so he had to at least try.

He picked up his own menu, despite the fact that he got the same thing every time he came here. “Laura didn’t tell me much about you,” he said. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I teach,” Jennifer said, all eagerness and smiles again. She seemed to smile a whole lot. Derek had never been a big smiler. “High school English, mostly, though I do substitute for history and sometimes economics at a real push. Once I subbed for—”

And then she was off. Talking. And talking and talking. She wasn’t saying anything objectionable, so he let her talk without interruption, nodding at appropriate junctions. She didn’t seem to mind that Derek wasn’t contributing much to the conversation, but there was something off about her tone, a sort of lilt to every other sentence as if she was waiting for him to pick up some sort of cue. She kept glancing up at him, still smiling but with a glint in her eye.

Thankfully, their food was brought out more quickly than most patrons could boast, probably because the wait staff had gossiped about his predicament to the kitchen staff and they were taking pity on his soul. Derek fiddled with his phone, flipping it back and forth in his palm.

Jennifer was on her fourth anecdote about sophomore pranks—by far the most heinous, according to her—when something touched Derek’s leg and startled him. It was Jennifer’s foot. She had slid it all the way across the floor to rub against his ankle without breaking stride in her oh-so-engaging story. Derek shifted his foot to the side, hoping that would put him out of range, and for a moment they were blessedly footsie-free. Then the foot returned, sliding up his calf instead.

Jennifer didn’t seem to notice him edging away from her. She just kept _smiling_ and _talking_ and _looking at him_ like she expected something from him. It was a predatory look and one that made me vastly uncomfortable. It reminded him far too much of Kate. Not that Laura knew about Kate. Laura had no idea that beautiful, confident older women made Derek want to hide under the table, or if she did then she had no idea why. At least Jennifer wasn’t blonde. The last blind date with a blonde girl had ended badly for everyone involved and Laura had given him the cold shoulder for a week before setting him up with a charming young black man instead, like she was making some sort of odd apology by choosing someone as different as possible.

When Jennifer laughed—at something _she_ said, because Derek hadn’t said much of anything in the last twenty minutes—and then set about licking the ranch dressing off her salad fork in what was probably supposed to be a seductive manner, Derek finally unlocked his phone and clicked _install_.

 ** _Hindr_** was sort of a genius idea, if one thought about it. The counterpart to **_Tindr_** , designed to ruin dates instead of set them up. It was supposed to hook people up with people in the area who could provide an escape route for those in a failed romantic setting. Derek thought he qualified.

The app took a frustratingly long time to download, and in the meantime Jennifer started with the compliments. His graduate thesis was fascinating, she said, and how was it fair that he could be an athlete _and_ a scholar? Laura had said he was smart but she hadn’t mentioned how attractive he was. Were his eyes naturally that green or was it just the low lighting and the blue of his shirt making them look so stunning? The app was at 87% when she leaned forward enough to put her hand on his knee, long fingernails scraping against the denim of his good jeans and making his skin crawl.

Derek excused himself the moment the app was ready, making a run for the restroom. He wondered if he shouldn’t just squeeze himself out of the window instead, but he discarded the idea pretty quickly; for one, the window was far too small for him to actually fit through without gnawing his arms off first, and two, Jennifer seemed the type to make a _scene_ when she realized she’d been ditched and he was absolutely certain the restaurant would find a way to bill him for the damages. She struck him as a crier. Not to mention, Jennifer hadn’t actually _done_ much of anything to justify him fleeing in such an undignified manner and when it got back to Laura, she would give him that _look_ , the wholly disappointed one that said he wasn’t trying hard enough to be happy.

Derek locked himself in a stall and opened the app, speed-reading through the mission statement and vague instructions. He turned on his GPS so the app could locate him. He filled out the basic information required—first name, email address, age, gender presentation—and uploaded a recent picture of himself so that whoever came to his rescue would know who to look for.

He clicked on the red, flashing **SEND HELP** button and another small form popped up. He selected _bad first date_ from the first drop down menu and scrolled through the interruption options in the next. They ranged from _old school friend_ to _dead relative_. In the end he selected _surprise me_ and sent his distress signal out into the ether. A map appeared with a loading pinwheel that turned into a green arrow, pointing a few blocks away. It said “Stiles, ETA 11 minutes.” Derek blew out a heavy breath, puffing up his cheeks, and stowed his phone in his pocket again. Now he just needed to survive eleven more minutes and he would be home free.

He would have wondered what sort of interruption this Stiles was likely to choose but Jennifer was on him as soon as he got back to the table, putting her hand on his knee again and suggesting they order a dessert to share and making bedroom eyes at him until Derek was nearly ready to make a run for it on his own, rescue be damned. His discomfort was nearing critical levels when a disturbance at the entrance caught the attention of pretty much every patron in the restaurant.

It was just raised voices at first, not loud enough to understand from the middle of the floor, but then the unruly guest pushed his way further in and Derek’s eyes widened as he finally made out the words being shouted at the maître d’.

“Don’t give me that, I know he’s here!” a man was saying, impatient. “This is where he always goes, after all. Every time, every _fucking_ time. _Derek_!”

Derek almost ducked out of instinct. He turned around to see a man he had never seen before striding toward him looking nothing short of irate. He was young, probably an undergrad, about his height with dark hair. He was dressed casually in a plaid button-up and t-shirt combo, jeans well-worn but without holes, all of it just put together enough not to look disheveled. The guy came to a stop right at their table, staring down at Derek with his hands on his hips.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said, and it was clearly an accusation. He waved a hand toward Jennifer, who had been gaping at him in unflattering disbelief and who now looked horribly insulted by the dismissive gesture. “Who’s this supposed to be?” Stiles—for Derek had to assume that this was the Stiles the app had indicated would be his savior—asked. “Is she the reason you’ve been coming home late? Working overtime, my _ass_.”

Derek mouthed at him, his brain having a hard time catching up to the situation he found himself in. Jennifer recovered from her shock first.

“I’m his date,” she hissed, fingers clutching at the table. She looked like she might pounce any minute and rip his throat out, such was her indignation. Stiles didn’t seem intimidated though. He just threw back his head and laughed.

“Is that what he told you?” he asked, sounding bitter. “That’s what he told Stacey too. And Caroline, and Lewis. And—”

“And who the hell are _you_ supposed to be?” Jennifer shot back. Derek had a sinking feeling he knew what the answer was going to be, ludicrous as it was.

“Well, I’m _supposed_ to be his fiancé,” Stiles said and yes, Derek had been right. Stiles held up his left hand and there was actually a _ring_ on his finger, a silver band on his left ring finger right where an engagement ring was meant to be. Derek heard a chorus of gasps and _ooh_ s from the surrounding tables and felt heat creep up his neck in mortification at the enormous spectacle this was becoming.

“Fiancé?” Jennifer demanded, disbelieving. She turned to Derek, hair flying behind her at the abruptness of the motion. “Laura never said anything about a fiancé, Derek.”

Stiles barked another laugh. “Yeah, well, Laura’s never liked me, has she?” he asked without missing a beat, without having the slightest clue of who Laura was. He just rolled with it. “But has Derek ever bothered to stand up for me? No, no of course not, why would he? Why would he defend the man he loves when he can’t even keep it in his pants, hm?”

They already had the attention of every person in a two mile radius, and Jennifer was looking mutinous and much less likely to throw herself on him by now; Derek figured he might as well play along. Now that he knew which script they were following, he could figure out his lines easily enough. He moved to stand up, to approach Stiles, holding out an entreating hand toward him. “Stiles, babe, this isn’t what it—”

Stiles slapped his hand away. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Derek,” he snapped, every inch the jilted lover. “I believed you the last time you said that, and we all know how _that_ turned out!”

“I told you, Stacey wasn’t ever—” Just as he’d hoped, Stiles took the opening without waiting for him to actually make his argument.

“Oh, but she _was_ , Derek! She _was_! What else would you call it?” Stiles didn’t wait for an answer to his question, didn’t leave enough of a pause for anyone to get a word in edgewise. “How many times is this gonna happen, Derek? You keep saying never again, that you love me and you’ll change, but here we are _again_ and how many times am I supposed to believe you?”

“I do love you, Stiles,” Derek said, trying to make it as earnest and believable as possible.  Jennifer’s noise of outrage was music to his ears. Laura would hear about this, he was certain, and that should probably concern him but they’d long since attracted the attention of everyone in the building, so the damage was already done. He might as well put on a good show, since Stiles was milking it so much. It was sort of thrilling, actually, to have everyone’s eyes on him, avidly watching the drama unfold, if only because he knew the drama wasn’t real.

“I love you,” he repeated. “This was a mistake, I knew it was from the start, and I’m sorry. But we can work through this, I know we can.”

“What, just like we worked through all the others?” Stiles asked with a helpless little gesture. He looked and sounded like he might actually cry. Jeez, this guy was _good_.

“I know, babe,” Derek said, “I know, and I’m so sorry.” He didn’t even have to try very hard to sound repentant because this Stiles had very expressive eyes and they were watering and they made Derek want to fix whatever was upsetting him as quickly as possible, even if it was imaginary, even if it was _him_. He reached out again, maybe to put his hand on Stiles’ arm or something, and said, “I can do better, I promise. There won’t be any others—”

Suddenly Stiles was angry again, shoving Derek back and then throwing his hands in the air. “Again with the promises!” he shouted. “You said all that last time, Derek. You’ve said all of this before but it’s always a lie. Every time, _every time_ , we end up here. Do you even want to marry me?”

“Of course I do!” Derek insisted. He could see the maître d’ and the restaurant manager converging on their location, a very large man in a chef’s hat falling in behind them looking ready to pick them up and physically remove them. “Stiles, babe—” he said, one more impassioned appeal before they got thrown out and he was probably banned from this godforsaken place forevermore.

“Don’t you _babe_ me, Derek,” Stiles spat. “You always do this. You always stand there with your stupid perfect face and your friggin’ _trollop of the night_ —”

Jennifer’s livid shriek might have resulted in an outright attack if the manager hadn’t stepped in at right that moment.

“Gentlemen,” he said smoothly. “I’m afraid I must insist that you take this discussion outside.”

“‘Discussion,’ he says,” Stiles scoffed. “Right, well, that’s putting it delicately, thank you.”

“Stiles, let’s just go outside and talk about this,” Derek tried, completely ignoring Jennifer’s attempts to make herself relevant to the conversation.

“I don’t know that there’s anything to talk about anymore,” Stiles said. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. It looked soft.

“Stiles—”

“Gentlemen, please, if you’ll just step outside.”

“Look, Derek, I think…” Stiles let out a heavy, terribly convincing sigh. “I think I’m gonna stay with Scott for a while, okay? I think that’s for the best.”

“No, Stiles, wait,” Derek said, aiming for desperate. “You don’t need to—”

Stiles was already backing toward the door. “I’ll leave the car with you,” he said, talking over Derek’s attempt to talk him around. “Scott can take me to work. Don’t forget to water the plants, you know you get so upset whenever they die of neglect.”

Then he was out the door and Derek had a moment of panic as he realized he was now the sole focus of everyone’s attention. “ _Stiles, wait_!” he called out. He barely stopped to grab his leather jacket from the back of his chair, dig out his wallet, and toss two twenties on the table to cover the bill before he was out the door. Immediately there was a hand taking hold of his wrist and then he was running, being dragged down the street and into a small old-time diner he had never taken notice of before.

When he finally stopped moving, he was wind-swept and a bit disoriented and very much at a loss for words. Stiles hadn’t let go yet, his hand large and warm and strong. He was peering out of the glass storefront, watching the sidewalk to see if anyone had followed them. Once he had apparently decided that they were in the clear, he turned back to Derek and promptly started laughing.

No, not laughing. That was too mild a word. Cackling, maybe. _Howling_ with amusement until there were actual tears in his eyes and he had to lean against the door and let go of Derek’s wrist to hold onto his own stomach instead. Derek stared at him.

“Dude, you should see your _face_ ,” Stiles managed to say, pointing up at him. “Oh my god, did you see _her_ face? Fucking _priceless_!”

Through the odd numbness of shock and confusion, Derek felt the muscles in his cheeks twitching. He was smiling, like _really_ smiling in a way he hadn’t done in a very long time. And then he was laughing, a full-bellied laugh that shook his entire body. It was a laugh the likes of which he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before, even before Kate when everything was good and he didn’t have to work to be happy. Here in this hole-in-the-wall diner after a truly disastrous blind date, Derek leaned against the wall and laughed his ass off with his brand new fake fiancé until his face hurt from the force of his grin and he had to stop and catch his breath.

“Thanks for playing along so well,” Stiles said after they’d got themselves mostly under control again, though he was still chuckling a bit. “Most people don’t get that into it, they just wait for me to drag them out by the ear and that’s that.”

“You do that often then?” Derek asked. For all that his default expression was a scowl, he couldn’t seem to make the smile go away now that it had lodged itself on his face. It helped that Stiles was grinning back at him, his face flushed and those expressive eyes now twinkling with mischief instead of tears.

“Not nearly as often as I’d like to,” Stiles said with a wink. He pushed himself off the wall and offered Derek his hand. “It wasn’t what you were expecting, was it?”

Derek took the hand and pulled himself properly upright. If his grip lingered longer than it needed to, it was just the odd euphoria that came with the oxygen deprivation that always followed a good, hard laugh.  “I’ll admit, I was a bit taken aback. That was one hell of a show you put on back there.”

“Saved another one, did you?” A girl came out of the back room to lean over the counter by the register, dark hair curling over her shoulder. She looked nearly as amused as Stiles did. “What was it this time?”

“Blind date gone horribly, horribly wrong,” Stiles informed her cheerfully. “Allison, my darling, my dove, the platonic light of my life—this is Derek, my scoundrel of a fiancé whom I just caught red-handed yet again.”

“Ooh, scandalous,” Allison said, twirling a curl around her finger. “Did the scoundrel get to eat before he was so rudely interrupted, or is he being sent to bed without supper?”

“I did eat,” Derek admitted, then turned to Stiles. “But how about I buy _you_ dinner as compensation for such a virtuosic performance?”

“Throw in a milkshake and I will consider my fee paid in full,” Stiles said with a solemn nod. He told Allison to get him his usual and she disappeared into the back after taking Derek’s order as well.

The two of them settled into one of the pleather booths along the wall to wait, but not before Stiles had bounded over to the rickety-looking jukebox in the corner and dropped in what looked like an unnecessary number of quarters to start it going. He bounded back, plopped down, and immediately started drumming along with the first song it played. Stiles always seemed to be moving, from the moment Derek had first seen him.

The fluorescent lights caught on the engagement ring still on Stiles’ finger. Derek pointed at it. “So are you actually engaged to someone or is that just a prop?”

“Oh!” Stiles said, looking like he had forgotten he was still wearing it. He took it off and dropped it in the chest pocket of his button-up. “Yeah, I got that at a pawn shop when I first signed up for **_Hindr_**. It really lends the whole thing an air of authenticity, don’t you think? And that’s important for every performance, authenticity.”

“Are you an actor then?”

“Nah, not really,” Stiles said, waving a hand. “I’m a criminal justice major at Berkeley, actually. I did briefly consider doing a minor in theater, but, I mean, what do you _do_ with a theater degree anyway? If you’re not actually gonna do theater for a living? Nah, I figured I’d stick to applying my inborn melodrama to more practical purposes.”

“Like saving poor saps like me from possibly-cannibalistic blind dates?”

Stiles laughed again, head thrown back and long white throat exposed. “She did look like she might eat you alive,” he conceded. “How did you even end up there? Who’s Laura and why is she setting you up with crazy chicks like her?”

“Laura is my sister,” Derek told him. “My meddling, well-meaning-but-unbearably-overbearing older sister who doesn’t seem to realize that fourteen failed blind dates might be a sign that her plan isn’t working out so well and maybe she should give up.”

Stiles let out a low whistle. “Wow, fourteen?”

“That’s a little tragic,” Allison said, not unkindly, as she set down a burger, its plate overflowing with fries, and a cookies ‘n cream milkshake for Stiles and a chocolate milkshake with extra cherries for Derek.

“Don’t I know it,” Derek sighed. The milkshake was delicious. He swiped a fry off of Stiles’ plate to dip in it. Stiles made a face at him for that, but he didn’t stop Derek from stealing more fries. “She is gonna kill me for this.”

“She and crazy bitch BFFs?” Stiles asked around a mouthful of burger.

“Not a clue,” Derek admitted. “I stopped asking questions a long time ago. But one way or another, word will get back to her and then I am going to be in for one hell of a lecture.”

“On what exactly?”

“Fuck if I know,” Derek said easily. “She’ll think of something.”

“Well, if she wants to meet your secret boyfriend, don’t send her my way,” Stiles said, completely unrepentant. “The Stiles Stilinski Escort Service only takes one night engagements.”

Derek snorted. “What good are you then?”

“Hey, I got you out, didn’t I?” Stiles said. “I did my job! You’re on your own for the aftermath, pal. Sorry, I don’t make the rules, but they’re for the best. Trust me. The last time I tried to follow up on one of these things, I got roped into some girl’s Christmas dinner and had to, like, help her mom bake cookies and stuff, all while pretending that we’d been dating for months and I hadn’t just met her three days ago via iPhone app. Then we had to ‘break up’ and that got really messy considering her brother works with my dad down at the station and he was not best pleased about what I had done to his precious little sister. Let me tell you, my dad thought the whole thing was a _riot_ after I explained the situation, but first he tried to give me a _talk_ about, you know, safe sex and stuff, as if I don’t already know everything I need to know on that subject. I mean, really, this is the digital age and the internet is there for our every need. I’m pretty sure I know more about sex than _he_ does.”

Stiles was talking. And talking and talking. And Derek was still smiling, Even as Stiles kept on talking, the topic wandering off into truly bizarre territory on occasions but always circling back to something relevant in the end, Derek just laughed and stole more fries to dip in his milkshake. He had to duck some of Stiles’ more vehement gesticulations, but he didn’t mind that. He didn’t mind any of it. In fact, he didn’t even notice that he had finished his milkshake and the fries were gone and they’d been sitting in that booth just _talking_ for over an hour until his phone rang.

Stiles took one look at the grimace on his face and said, “Laura?”

“Yup,” Derek said, making no move to answer it.

“Gonna ignore her?”

“Entirely.” Derek swiped to end the call and put the phone back in his pocket. Stiles beamed at him in a way that seemed almost proud. Warmth spread across Derek’s cheeks and he was astonished to realize that he was actually _blushing_ , like a schoolgirl with a crush. He cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “I should, uh…I should probably get back though. It’s past midnight and I’ve got a class to teach in the morning.”

“And I’ve got a class to attend,” Stiles said agreeably, pushing himself out of the booth and once again offering Derek a hand. He took it, letting Stiles pull him upright. Stiles didn’t step back and they ended up standing very close together. They were almost of a height, Derek just that little bit taller. Stiles’ eyes were a light honeyed brown, almost gold, and they were by far the most beautiful eyes Derek had ever seen, especially up close like this where he could see every glimmer, every shadow and highlight.

The jingling of the tiny bell over the doorway broke Derek out of his reverie as a gaggle of high schoolers came in, posturing and obviously feeling cool for being out after dark. When he turned back, Stiles had stepped out of his personal space and Derek thought _he_ might be the one blushing this time. Stiles scratched at the back of his head.

“Yeah, so, uh…thanks for the milkshake,” he said. “Good luck placating your sister. I still say you should just tell her to butt out of your love life, ‘cause if she’s gonna be so nosy and invasive then she’s bound to be disappointed more often than not, but otherwise you’re just gonna have to suck it up and face the music, because that looked like a truly terrible date and I only even caught the tail end of it so it must have been pretty bad before I showed—”

“Stiles.”

Those beautiful eyes looked up at him and Derek almost forgot what he had been planning to say. Stiles biting his lip reminded him.

“ _That_ date may have been terrible,” Derek said, stepping closer, “but I think _this_ one went pretty well. Don’t you?”

Stiles opened his mouth but, for once, no words came out. “Date?” he finally managed.

Derek shrugged, hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans. He couldn’t bring himself to look away though, no matter how uncertain he suddenly felt. “I thought, maybe…”

“Yes!” Stiles looked a little embarrassed at how eagerly that had come out, but he smiled when Derek did.

“Then I don’t think Laura will be disappointed at all,” Derek said. He stepped in again and Stiles didn’t step back, letting Derek crowd him. They only hesitated a moment, a very short moment, before they came together, lips brushing tentatively at first and then with more confidence.

Derek could hear the whooping of the teenagers in the corner and what might have been a squeal of joy from Allison behind the counter, but he didn’t really care about any of that because Jail House Rock was playing on the jukebox and Stiles was smiling against his lips and, in that moment, for the first time in years, happiness was effortless.


End file.
